I haven’t pitched my tent for two weeks now. The only form of a travel plan I have is which direction I’m headed in so I have no idea where I’ll be staying each night until the sun has almost set.

Pitching for the night and packing up in the morning means less time on the road and paying full site prices for half a day, so I start sleeping in the car in secluded spots and I learn to sneak into camping grounds during the day to shower and keep my food cold.

By Monday I’m in Punakaiki on the west coast and the weather has darkened again along with my mood. I drag myself out of the car to walk around Pancake Rocks and become fascinated with a cavernous blowhole in the middle of the cliffs. The ocean swirls inside it, charging back and forth and roaring with almighty rage like a trapped animal and I feel like we could be related.

Next stop is Franz Josef which is home to the Fox and Franz Josef glaciers. I finally set up camp for once at a backpackers and take warm refuge inside for what ends up being four days, hiding from responsibility and the miserable weather. The trips to the glaciers are fascinating and I have a ton of fun taking photos, but most of me just wants to curl up under a blanket and do nothing.

Have I grown tired already?

The week disappears and I realise I leave for Australia in just two weeks. On the fifth day the skies are graced with sunshine once more, so I dye my hair the colour of pine trees to refresh my stagnant mind and finally tear myself away from the backpackers, heading south to meet Constance McDonald in Wanaka.

My spirits start to lift as the scenery grows increasingly stunning; Haast Pass grants me a glorious and satisfying view back at the southern alps where I’ve come from; heading into Otago, valleys surrounded by enormous ranges with crystal lakes beneath them have me speechless; but as I reach Lake Wanaka I’m completely blown away. This must be the New Zealand everyone’s been telling me about.

It’s so overwhelming that I don’t even know where to stop for photos; so I don’t. I hate the fact that I’m not capturing this because I know I won’t be coming back any time soon, but it just seems so pointless to stop - I can’t do it justice anyway.

I wake up in the car on the edge of Lake Wanaka on Sunday morning. The lakes are my favorite place to sleep because the view from the windscreen is an endless stretch of silky water and it appears as if you’re floating.

I find Connie at her beautiful home in the afternoon where we drink wine and get to know each other. We discuss topics I’ve never spoken out loud about before like feminism, nudity and self-love. She shows me her scrapbook full of intriguing personal clippings and I listen to her stories of heartbreak and ideas of social aspects that are new to me. This girl is mesmerising, so delicately passionate and full of energy, it’s truly inspiring to listen to something fresh for once.

We stay up late on the couch planning our sunrise swim and photoshoot tomorrow and she invites me to stay the night. It’s the first bed I’ve slept in in six weeks and I’m ready for the best sleep ever, but it’s quite the opposite; I lay awake all night thinking about Connie and how she completely lives her art, and don’t sleep until 5am.

We hit the road around 8:30am, meandering down dirt track through the valley towards Mt Aspiring. We’re too late for sunrise but the morning glow still illuminates the mountain ranges which stretch forever into the distance and wild brown cows gallop alongside the car.

We stop at Wishbone Falls, a huge cascading waterfall where rainbows hover above the surface of the pool below. We both strip off with no hesitation and shoot some beautiful portraits of each other in this place where surely magic is made. I can’t help but look at her; fiery orange hair contrasted against such smooth, pink skin and she exudes womanhood, a nymph of the waterfall gliding through the mercury pool and I could swear rainbows appear where she walks.

Just when I think it can’t get any better, our next stop is Motutapu Gorge, a turquoise, crystal clear pool which runs through a narrow corridor in the rock. As we start to undress again without question, a man stumbles upon us from no where and we giggle like school girls, slightly embarrassed but proud in our femininity. We swim in the ice cold glacier water and we are like fair maidens of old times, natural bodies mixed with natural waters. Heavenly!

Back at Connie's house we try to warm up and feel our limbs again and she insists I stay again tonight, but I've already made the decision to leave. My time in New Zealand is running out and if I don’t force myself away now, I’ll stay forever. It’s a tough choice to make but deep down there is consolation, for this wild little town is the deciding factor that I'll return to this incredible country.

My hesitance to leave Auckland for the last time soon disappears once I hit the road. A relaxing drive north-east to The Coromandel puts my mind back on track, and I reach a campsite on the east coast with plenty of daylight left to take my time setting up.

A curious young girl of four or five is sat on the steps of a motorhome on the adjacent site and asks if she can help me pitch my tent, so I let her hammer the pegs into the ground which she’s thrilled about. Once it’s up I invite her inside my tiny home and it’s refreshing to be in the company of a non-adult.

She wants to be my helper for the evening so I show her how to fold some clothes while I organise the car, then she helps to carry my heavy food bags into the kitchen. I teach her how to write my name on the food labels and leave her to practice while I make us some dinner, and when I come back to check her progress I find she’s written my name three whole times with a big love heart next to each one.

I take a quick trip to Hot Water Beach before it gets dark where the waves are unforgiving but I swim anyway, until a huge one swallows me up. I escape to the shore to sit in the hot pools where if you dig into the sand, boiling water spills up from the thermal springs below and I soak in my own little coastal bath until my fingers and toes go wrinkly.

On the drive back to the camp site, the scene is beautifully moody. As daylight grows dimmer and heavy dark clouds roll in, a patch of gold glows where the sun once shone and silhouettes of Kānuka trees stand tall over darkening fields. Raindrops start to patter the windscreen and the cows begin to kneel one by one, and as the last few birds skit across the sky to make their way home, a roll of thunder grumbles in the distance.

The morning carries a sombre tone and a sense of stillness, and it’s late afternoon before I get up and head to Cathedral Cove. Gloomy clouds overhead don’t help my mood and I’m feeling uninspired, so I listen to some of the music that Colby gave me: some beautiful Mexican acoustic from Chavela Vargas which is the perfect soundtrack for the walk to the cove, and when I reach the beach I fall asleep to the voice of Rodriguez.

When I wake up, the clouds are still grey and my mood unchanged. I lay still as ice, stuck in a motionless state except for my eyes which dart over the groups of couples, friends and families around me and I realise I’m the only one by myself. I can’t seem to rid this sense of gloom but I tell myself that the lows are just as important as the highs.

Tuesday morning finds me at a peaceful campsite in the sticks just south of Tauranga. After a long lie in of contemplation and trying to recall my dreams, I unzip the tent to discover the greyness of the weather and my mood have shifted. Feeling positive, I decide to test my camp stove for the first time, preparing coffee and a zucchini and chorizo pasta for lunch and it feels so great to have cooked a meal from scratch.

I arrive in Rotorua with lack of purpose and take myself to a remote side of the lake to be away from people. I head through a secret tunnel of trees that line the shore where dappled light dances through their leaves and the lake licks at their roots. I sit out at the edge of an old jetty, feet dangling just above the surface with book in one hand and my pasta in the other and it’s a relief to feel invisible for a while.

On my way south to Taupo I stop to bathe in some natural hot springs in the Waiotapu Stream which appear beautifully enchanted in the twinkling late afternoon sun. It’s almost dark by the time I reach Taupo and I drive around the entire lake trying to find a campsite to no avail, so I give up and park in a secluded spot behind some trees in hope that no one catches me. The last of the light drips away into blue and orange raindrops and with them I drift into sleep.

My thoughts are awake before the rest of me on Wednesday and I can’t remember where I am. I feel like a stranger to yesterday’s self, as if reincarnated into a new body and mind overnight. The air is still and empty of sound, the only audible noise a slow, faint lapping. My eyes begin to open and all I can see from the car window at the end of my feet is a bright, brilliant blue. Without wanting to burst this silent, azure bubble, I slowly sit up to see that the blue above meets even more blue below, and I remember I’ve parked on the shore of Lake Taupo!

My clothes are off before I can think twice and I sink into the clear, wet blueness, surprised to find it’s already warm, and watch the sunlight shimmer on the sand below and giggle as tiny fish nibble at my toes. I throw my legs forward and float on my back, looking up into more blue above with not a cloud in the sky. My, oh my, this is what I needed.

I leave the water completely cleansed and back to my normal self and make plans for the day ahead, accompanied by a cup of coffee boiled from the water of the lake, for which I make sure to say thank you before drinking. I decide to head to Tongariro National Park today to do the Alpine Crossing tomorrow, staying in a backpackers which organises shuttles to and from the start and end of the trail.

I’m up all night talking to S, reminiscing about what once was, and almost miss the shuttle at 6am. The drive is misty and quiet in anticipation of the 19.4km trek ahead. It’s busy on the trail but I manage to find space to walk in peace and pretend I’m walking the path through Mordor to Mt Doom. The day is tough with harsh sun and steep climbs but the ancient volcanic views are worth it, and I’m so proud to complete the crossing alone in 8 hours - although it would be nice to have someone to celebrate with.

I’m in Wanganui by Friday afternoon where I spend the evening and next morning catching up on writing and editing to clear my head a bit, and by Saturday evening I’m headed north west to meet Colby in New Plymouth on Monday.

I stop half way in a tiny town called Hawera where I wait for nightfall to find somewhere safe to sleep in the car which becomes more challenging than I anticipated; the visitor centre carpark appears deserted, until my eyes adjust to the shadows of a doorway where a frail, ghostly figure is staring straight through me; the KFC carpark is quiet so I curl up in the back and read my book by torchlight for a while, until waves of drunk people start stumbling past and I have to quickly shut off the light to avoid being spotted.

This continues until I finish my book at 4am, and out of nowhere a man runs up to the car to look inside - every fibre in my body freezes and my fist is gripped around my keys ready for whatever’s next - but his friends call him away before he sees me. I jump over the front seat and drive off into the night, chain smoking to keep me awake until I miraculously find a free campsite in the forest.

After catching up on sleep from last night, I get my bearings and set off for New Plymouth, grateful for daylight and excited to have some company tomorrow. When I reach town I get my nails painted dark blue with glitter all over to look like little galaxies at my fingertips, and spend the rest of the evening swimming at Fitzroy Beach where I’ve booked 3 nights at the campsite.

I’m in holiday mode on Monday with the summer sun full in the sky and nothing to do but relax for the next few days, so I spend the entire afternoon at the beach. After hours of soaking up plenty of sunshine, I skip down to the ocean to swim a while until I notice a man on the beach waving frantically for me to get out of the water. I make my way out and he says he thinks he saw a shark fin swimming near me, at which I laugh in utter disbelief. I turn around to see he’s pointing right where I was swimming, and sure enough a huge black fin emerges and sinks back down again, but followed by two others - and we realise that it’s a family of orcas! Everyone gathers at the shore to witness the rare sighting and I still can’t believe it’s happening.

Colby arrives in the evening and after a beautiful sunset swim we retreat to our tents where thoughts and beer flow into the night. We sleep in the next morning and laze about on the beach, then drive out to some deep forest in the national park to take some portraits of each other. We walk for an hour until I find a good location where I shoot an intimate self-portrait which involves him too and it’s strange having someone else witness the process for the first time.

We walk further and find a dry, rocky riverbed and I pose completely nude for him again, where he captures me on polaroid film laid over wet, mossy boulders and under waterfalls. When it’s too cold for me to bear anymore, we head back and spend the evening in town eating pizza and playing pool.

We bid each other farewell on Wednesday and I start the drive south, and although I needed this little break it feels good to be back on the road again. Despite feeling doubtful and slightly lost this week, I turn the music up and sing and shout to myself that I am strong and I am courageous, and I can do this.

The first week of my travels takes me to the Northland, somewhere I hadn’t previously planned on visiting but a missing package and a lost passport require me to stop back in Auckland next week, so it makes sense to detour north for a while instead of going south and coming back up.

I’ve hand-drawn maps of both islands in my journal and pinpointed places to visit which becomes the only resemblance of a plan, so with no real destination other than meeting Dawn Chapman up in Pukenui, I casually drive up the east coast stopping overnight in Warkworth and Whangarei on Wednesday & Thursday.

The trip so far is burdened with organising passport forms, insurance claims and package tracking and so the sense of freedom I’d anticipated doesn’t quite hit yet. I spend the drives in the company of my thoughts and music, getting used to being on the road for this is my first time driving any real distance. Finally meeting Dawn at the campsite on Friday evening is a welcome relief from the solitude thus far.

Saturday morning, we drive up to Cape Reinga, the most northern point of New Zealand and I wave to the open sea in the direction of London. It’s strange seeing rows of waves that never break for they have no land to stop them, and it gives me a real sense of distance from the rest of the world.

We head to the Te Paki sand dunes, a huge stretch of rolling desert that seems completely out of place in the surrounding greenery. We ride boards down the huge dunes which takes a little bit of practice, getting facefuls of sand and being covered head to toe, but the thrill is incredible. The Sun cooks us from the sky above and the sand below, and we retire sweaty and burnt.

The ocean is calling us so we stop and swim at a remote beach on the way back and take photos of each other being wild and free in the waves and sand. For sunset we rush to 90-Mile Beach but the Sun has already disappeared, leaving only a faint glow of purple and orange on the horizon and barely enough light to spot the hundreds of jellyfish washed up on the shore.

Dawn leaves on Sunday morning for her own adventures in the South Island and I’m left in my own company again. I’m eager to get back to the sand dunes with my camera, but this time I wander past the sand boarders and into the desert away from eyes and voices. All around me is endless sand, high and low and near and far, nothing but sand. I have the sudden urge to get naked, so I strip off and dance about and do handstands, feeling the rush of freedom I’ve been waiting for.

I set my camera down on top of my bag and start to take some self-portraits, when out of nowhere two heads appear above the dune in front of me. They spot me and I jump into my clothes quicker than I ever have, laughing to myself at how ridiculous I must look to them.

I continue further into the desert, aiming for the biggest sand dune in the distance and pretend I’m on Frank Herbert’s planet Dune. I finally reach the top of the sand mountain and the wind is vicious up here. I throw my arms up and yell into the blue above, cheering and hollering for no one to hear.

That evening I start to head south, stopping in Mangonui for fish and chips at a beautiful spot overlooking the water. I spend Monday resting, recovering from sunburn and fatigue. Later when the Sun is not so daunting I walk to the beach nearby where a wooden seat has been built in between two trees and I sit reading my book and watching gulls washing the day away and the tide cover the shore, as if tucking it in to bed for the night.

On Tuesday I stop at Rainbow Falls in KeriKeri, desperate to swim and freshen up from driving. The falls are huge and a large, dark pool sits below. Dawn told me you can climb up behind the falls but being by myself makes me nervous. I tell myself I’ll only be here once, so I get straight into the water and start swimming. I have an irritating fear of not knowing what’s below me in deep water which tends to make me panic, but I swim and swim and make it across to the rocks.

The climb up is dangerously slippery with moss and the unavoidable pools of thick mud. I cringe as I plunge my feet into the gloopy brown stuff, clambering up on all fours until I reach the cavern behind the waterfall. It’s a wet, mossy wonderland, everything is glistening and dripping from the spray of the falls.

I find an ancient tree trunk that’s stuck on the rocks which must have fallen from above and got lodged there. I straddle it and shimmy forward as far as I can, pretending i’m a girl-Mowgli. I plant a kiss on to the tree and rub it in with a leaf in hope of healing it.

I climb off the trunk and move further along the hollow to perch on a rock jutting out of the waterfall. I sit cross-legged and attempt to meditate for the first time. Eyes closed, water spraying all over me washing the mud away, I am Queen of the wetland reigning over the pool below. I breathe in the smells and sounds of the waterfall, absorbing some of its energy and trying to become one with this little-big water world, but I cannot focus. I climb down off my throne and swim back across, feeling so glad that I pushed myself to do it.

Wednesday takes me all the way to the west coast to visit Tāne Mahuta, the largest living Kauri tree and I continue south through the forest with all the windows down despite the rain, enjoying the fresh fragrance of pine and wet soil.

I park near a remote gas station to take a photo and stop inside to grab some snacks. Just as I’m about to leave, the skies break open and rain pours and pours as heavy as the waterfall earlier. I wait outside under the shelter of the gas station as it’s too wet to run back to my car and the owner joins me to watch the rain. He’s old and weathered, the buttons of his Hawaiian shirt stretched to their limit across his protruding stomach and he’s a comical, colourful contrast to the grey downpour behind him.

I have my film camera around my neck and as we chat about photography and my travels, I desperately want to take his portrait but I’m too nervous to ask, despite the perfect conversation for it. I decide to make a run for the car and as I drive away, I’m kicking myself that I didn’t take his photograph. I realise what a fool I am to throw away that situation and even contemplate turning around, but I take it as a lesson learned. I tell myself that I must take every opportunity from now on for I’ll never be faced with the same circumstances ever again - there’s simply no such thing as “next time”.

From here I’m driving around aimlessly, feeling lost and without purpose. I pass a graveyard of charred trees, the earth blackened and scattered with dead wood. Despite the rain and distant sound of thunder, I pull over and set up for a self-portrait in the middle of the devastation. It only feels right to be nude again, so I strip off my wet clothes and ignore the cars driving past. I get soaked to the bone and thunder growls in disapproval but the rush of adrenaline is too good to ignore.

I feel empty on Thursday. I’ve been driving around non-stop trying to be strategic about how far I go because this package is still not in Auckland yet. I pass back through Warkworth, the first stop I made when I left a week ago and it feels strange to recognise a place again. I can’t go to Auckland yet so I try to find somewhere free or cheap to stop for the evening.

There’s a campsite in Mahurangi Reserve but it’s council run and the booking process is frustrating, so I give up and climb into a tree on the beach for a while. Below me a mother, father and son are setting up a picnic and the boy is so content, running about in the sand and chasing Dad around. As I watch them I try to remember what it felt like to be a young girl with Mum & Dad by my side, but I realise I’ve completely lost that perspective. I wish more than anything in this world that I could remember the times when we were a little family.

I drive back to Auckland on Friday as the package has apparently been delivered. I’m embarrassed at the smile on my face as the Sky Tower comes into view! As much as I’ve longed to leave this city for almost a whole year, I can’t deny that I’m happy to be back for the day - except it feels different now. I feel like a stranger driving through Ponsonby, despite calling it home for so long and only being away for a week.

I’m quickly on a mission driving here, there and everywhere getting things done. It’s nice to be back to a fast pace again. My last stop is the post office to collect the package but they tell me it’s not there - It’s apparently at the holding office which is now closed for the day… I fight the urge to scream as this has been driving crazy for almost a month now.

This now means I’ll have to stay in Auckland until tomorrow. Why can’t anything be simple? I drive straight to Cristina’s house in hope we can grab coffee so we can catch up and I can de-stress. I’m so happy to see a familiar face and she offers me her place to stay the night. We’re joined for the evening by her friends for a barbecue and beers and it’s a beautiful night of chatting, laughing and sharing thoughts. I’m extremely thankful to have a place to crash in the company of such vibrant souls.

In the morning I bid my friends farewell, silently comprehending that this is the last time I’ll see them in this country. The package is finally in my hands and suddenly I’m no longer chained to this city. I get a text from Colby Sadeghi who wants to head out west to Bethells Beach to shoot some portraits on film and with no where to be and a fascination for his obscure collection of cameras, I go and pick him up.